


Flight into Terror

by orphan_account



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bisexual, Character Death, F/F, Investigation, Mindfuck, Nihilism, Timey-Wimey, Torture, life is strange - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:04:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4378211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So what if Max never left Arcadia Bay? What if she and Chloe met Rachel, and formed a kick-ass gang and lived the cosy life of secretly all being in love with each other? And then what if Rachel still went missing, only Max didn't get her powers?</p><p>Well, this is that. Or at least, it will be. Max will still get her powers, albeit in a slightly different way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flight into Terror

I am of the belief, that every pair of good friends should bear in mind a singular, shared moment in time. One which both remember with terrifying clarity, and can recall in but an instant when required. So that no matter how close they remain, or how far apart they may grow, their lives remain entwined - entangled. If you don’t have one yet, go make one. Grab your best friend, take them somewhere special, and make a promise with them. Promise that you’ll always remember that exact moment. And if they look at you like you’re crazy, say or do something they’ll remember instead - whatever you have to do to cement that moment in their mind.  
  
Me and Rachel never had one. We should have, this I know now. Instead we fumbled along like the blind fools we were, grasping with something far out of our league. And maybe, if we’d had that moment, she’d have died a lot less.  
  
For me and Chloe though, it was the height of Summer, and she’d had taken us up to our usual perching spot by the lighthouse overlooking Arcadia Bay. It had been a month since Rachel’s disappearance, and the two of us had been working hard to try and find her, damn near repainting the whole of town with her Missing Person posters.  
  
Today was our designated day off though. We’d barely slept since that morning we’d awoken to her gone, and now we were exhausted and all out of ideas. Every lead was a dead end. No-one had seen her go. She told no-one of her plans. She just up and vanished, leaving all her stuff, and friends, behind.

  
Chloe and I secretly wished she’d run away, escaped from Arcadia Bay like we’d all dreamed of doing. We hoped she’d succeeded where we failed. I came close sure, but my parents Seattle plans fell through at the last minute, denying me the chance to get out of this coastal nightmare.  
  
It wasn’t all that bad here though. There was some nice scenery that’s for sure; some of which I was now enjoying with Chloe as we lay underneath our creepy designated ‘Hanging Tree’. We took advantage of its substantial shade in the sweltering heat, and wasted no time in cracking out the booze.  
  
Today also happened to be the day I got the response to my portfolio. Some big, regional competition Mr Jefferson had been pushing us all to take part in. Only one submission per school, apparently, and I was competing with such ‘greats’ as Victoria and Nathan. And if either of them got in before me, I was going to kill them.  
  
Which was pretty damn inevitable if you ask me.  
  
I handed Chloe the envelope with my Fate in it. When her face dropped, I knew that that was that opportunity down the drain. And yet thanks to the beauty of alcohol, and current nihilism, I couldn’t care less. Chloe made a point of reminding me (perhaps a few too many times) that every great got rejected before they got accepted. So we sat back and drained the rest of the bottle, sitting in the shade of our Hanging Tree till well after the sun set and the moon showed her face.  
  
We’d made a rule that tonight would be about us, and so that’s exactly what we did. We reminisced, and talked our usual shit. Chloe got baked, naturally, which only made her constant outbursts of giggling all the more frequent and entertaining.  
  
Then came the moment that we’d always remember. Or I would, at least. Chloe swivelled next to me and put her legs up on the armrest one side, resting her head in my lap the other. This wasn’t exactly anything new, and maybe it was the lack of sleep fuelling me, or blood alcohol level, but something felt… different, this time. She looked straight up at me, not breaking eye contact. I rested one hand on her head and massaged her forehead with my thumb.  
  
This night was about us.  
  
But time is a fickle thing. No sooner than I had opened my mouth for an off-the-cuff coming out confession, Chloe's phone started blaring its usual discordant ringtone. A phone call. At 3:15 AM. We shared an initial response of ‘what the fuck?’, and I cursed doubly on the inside as she sat up to take the call.  
  
We would not remember than night for the right reasons. Not for being about us. No, we would remember it for that phone call. That brief conversation before Chloe tossed her phone clean off the cliff, crashing into the rocks and sea below.  
  
Rachel Amber had been found. She’d appeared on TV. Dead.  
  
In London.  
  
“Fuck this shit,” Chloe cursed. “I’m out.”  
  
And with that, she walked away. I wanted so much to chase after her right then, to comfort her and share in our pain. But I couldn’t move. It was like taking a sucker punch from reality. We knew this was a potential, if not probable, eventuality. Yet all I could do at that moment was cry, and watch my best friend storm off.  
She never did tell me who was on the other end of that call. I had an inkling it was her creepy friend Frank, that perv always showed a bit too much interest in Rachel. If I had to pin anyone’s ability to track her down, let alone half way around the world, it would be him.  
  
  
Before we knew it, our whole life had been put on hold. Well, even more so. Chloe somehow wrangled us plane tickets at short notice, so we quickly packed up and took to the skies. We said goodbye to Joyce, who was thankfully understanding about the whole situation, though obviously had her concerns. But we both knew there was no stopping Chloe on this one.  
  
I never bothered telling my parents, nor Mr Jefferson for that matter. What they don’t know can’t hurt them. Plus I’d get bogged down with all the requests for things to bring back from my parents; not to mention a massive bollocking from the latter. Souvenirs weren’t exactly something I wanted to have to consider right about now.  
  
Chloe drove us to the airport where we parked, illegally of course, and whizzed through security with what in hindsight was very little luggage. The wait for our flight was painfully long, even by airport standards. We were hit with delay after delay, which only served to rile Chloe. I managed to calm her down somewhat with a cup of coffee and a muffin, but it wasn’t easy. I’d seen her mad before, sure. Pissed too. But never… hopeless.  
  
That feeling passed the second we stepped foot on the plane however. It was like she got a second wind, and bounded down the aisle.  
  
Of course, she insisted on having the window seat. So I ended up getting stuck next to the father of the family behind us, who clearly wanted nothing more than to sleep his troubles away; but was foiled every minute by the fidgety pricks of a family behind him.

  
Yes, they were kicking my seat, if you want to know why I sound so bitter. They were loud too, but at least I could drown that out with sweet, sweet Mogwai. Or chats with Chloe, which were by far the highlights of the trip. I don’t know whether it was the prospect of going to England and leaving shitty Arcadia, or simply finding a lead on Rachel that had her so excited, but she would not shut up. Or stop fidgeting.  
  
But unlike that family behind me, I didn’t mind her nudging me so much.  
  
Okay, that sounded creepy. For context, it started during take-off, when she insisted I was scared of flying and held my hand till we were fully airborne. “Just looking out for you Max,” she said. And sure, I was slightly unnerved by the whole thing. I’d never flown before, and seen one too many disaster movies as of late. Chloe was enough to get me through anything though - she always knew how to take my mind off things. “What’s the worse that can happen anyway, autopilot deflates and you start coughing up eggs?”  
  
“Well I sure as hell won’t be the one to re-inflate him.”  
  
“Knew you didn’t swing like that,” she teased.  
  
I opened my mouth to say something, but ended up shutting it again like a confused guppy fish trying to find the perfect rebuttal. But she had a point. And from that devilish grin, she knew it. At least she’d done wonders for my nerves - dying in a fiery ball of death was the last thing on my mind.  
  
Once we were airborne, she released my hand and started digging around in her bag for the wine we’d bought at duty-free. We cracked it open and put on our best snobbish voices, playing connisseur like always with wine. Neither of us knew what we were talking about, but that didn’t stop us. Chloe was somewhat worse than me mind, she had her feet up again, no doubt pissing off the poor sod in front of us.  
  
For the first few hours of that journey, it almost felt like a normal holiday. All our doubts, worries and concerns regarding Rachel were left behind, if only for a moment. We had fun; the prospect and excitement of going abroad fuelled us, if only for a bit. Until Chloe got bored, crashed and fell asleep on my shoulder. Which gave me plenty of time to myself, though that got old real fast. Having packed at such short notice I kind of forgot to bring anything to do, so all I did was think, and think some more. Right after I snagged a shot of a drooling, sleeping Chloe that is; for ammunition’s sake.  
  
My mind went to thoughts of Rachel, of what happened to her, and what on earth could have dragged her out into the stix of London without so much as a word of goodbye, not even to her closest friends. She’d taken no luggage and left no note, nor anything else for that matter.  
  
When Chloe finally did awaken, she stretched and yawned as she always did, doing that thing where she grabs at the air like she’s reaching for her glasses. Not that she wore ever wore any.  
  
“Hey Max, we there yet?” she mumbled.  
  
“Not quite. Nice nap?”  
  
“Not really, this seat has fucked my neck and you have bony-ass shoulders.”  
  
“Quit it,” I nudged her.  
  
“I had the strangest dream,” she began, taking another sip of wine. “We found Rachel, only she was the Queen of England, and was beheading all our old teachers.”  
  
“Sounds like her alright,” I chuckled.  
  
“Then she went and fucked some one-armed cowboy with tourettes and got deported.”  
  
“Still her.”  
  
“Chasing after the damaged? Fixing them up and going on wacky escapades? Guess that’s why she hung with us so much. Broken-ass pieces of shit.”  
  
There was awkward silence for a moment as I figured out what to say. On the one hand I was almost offended - I wasn’t broken. Or at least, didn’t think I was. Yet on the other hand I knew how touchy Chloe was regarding her… mental state. I was there for her, but I was no Rachel Amber.  
  
“You’re not broken, Chloe.”  
She fished into her bag, reached out her pills and shook them at me as if to make a point. She then popped the cap and tossed one into her mouth with a flourish. She swallowed it dry, and lounged back in her seat.  
  
“I know what she meant to you,” I said. “She was to you, what you are to me. What she was to me. That force keeping you sane, keeping you going. That little bit more excitement you need in your life.”  
  
“She was more than that,” she snapped back.  
  
And that said all that I needed to hear.  
  
I hesitated. “You loved her, didn’t you?”  
  
“Didn’t you?” was the eventual reply.  
  
“You know I don’t-”  
  
“Oh lay off Max, you’re not kidding anybody.”  
  
Well shit. She knew. I mean, I knew she knew, but didn’t know know. Know what I mean? She had a few key facts wrong, sure. I didn’t love Rachel in that way.  
  
I loved Chloe.  
  
And that inner struggle between ‘tell’ and ‘don’t tell’ in my head reached a crescendo. I must have looked like a moron while I stopped there to have my internal struggle.  
  
“You’re right,” I replied. “But you’re also wrong.”  
  
My heart raced.  
  
“It’s not Rachel that I’m in love with.”  
  
Oh God was I going to regret this.  
  
“It’s you Chloe.”  
  
  
  
  
  
Rachel woke to dark and bondage. She was hog-tied, the ropes so tight they burned. She could see naught but the blinking little light of a camcorder.  
  
_No-one in sight._  
  
Her head was pounding, and every joint of her body was in protest. She struggled against her bindings, writhing on the floor. She would have screamed, if not for the ball gag.  
  
At least she had her clothes. And no wounds, surprisingly.  
  
A loud bang caused her to jump and seize up. The strip lights came on, flooding the room with their light, and letting her see for the first time in… however long she’d been in there.  
  
It was depressingly empty. The room was huge, for starters. A nice laminate floor, white-wash walls, and a massive window with a beautiful view of the city. They must have been at least 20 stories high. A single camcorder on a tripod pointed at the prisoner, recording, but unmanned. The only other people in the room were a duo - both gothic as hell, dressed up to the nines like dolls with skin so porcelain they practically glowed. They were the mirror images of each other; one was a short man, dressed in a white suit with jet black hair and a cane. The other was a tall woman, dressed in black with a white bob and a sword.  
  
The man approached the camcorder and turned it to face the window while the woman approached Rachel. “That time again already?” asked the voice.  
  
A rumble shook the building, dislodging dust and debris from the roof.  
  
_An explosion?_  
  
There was a burst of light from outside. The office block from across the way shook, glass exploding from the middle floors. It seemed to take over a minute to start falling to pieces.  
  
“That time,” replied the man. “This time, she comes with us.”  
  
The woman raised an eyebrow and grabbed Rachel by the hair, hoisting her up to meet her eye. “Oh good. I was getting bored without a Fool.”  
  
The window exploded, spraying the room with shards of molten glass.  
  
_Smoke. No fire._  
  
“Come on then,” the man whispered, walking towards his counterpart and her captive. “Let’s have some fun.”  
  
He kicked Rachel in the shins, sharp and down. He then grabbed her firmly by the wrist, and raised his other hand.  
  
There was a bang. Only it sounded off. The glass rose from the floor, dislodged from skin and shot towards the window.  
It reformed.  
  
The office block across the way rose, the walls at the middle strengthening and likewise reforming. Dust rose from the floor and met the ceiling.  
  
And the reversal accelerated, whisking Rachel Amber back through time.


End file.
